


Seeds of Suffering

by DarkMagesGrimorie



Category: Guild Wars 2 (Video Game)
Genre: Charr (Guild Wars), Death, Gen, Nightmare Court (Guild Wars), Sylvari (Guild Wars), Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-21
Updated: 2019-11-21
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:08:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21512017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkMagesGrimorie/pseuds/DarkMagesGrimorie
Summary: A small charr cub lives through a traumatic experience, and changes.
Kudos: 5





	1. Long live the Imperator

The sun stretches across the blue sky, it’s warmth bearing down on the Black Citadel. Among the giant siege engines camped in the garrison a cub hastily rushes along, her paws holding heaps of scrap. Bits of metal strewn behind her. She heads behind the stationary war wagon, squeezing herself in between it and the nearby ruin wall, and dumps her haul in an untidy heap. Using her tattered pants, the cub brushes off her black paws of any rust and dirt. In front of her are two piles of scrap. On her left, one is sunken up against the ruin wall, a pair of metal rods sticking out to each side. Two rusty cogs stick out at the top of the pile, with a row of fully rusted bolts forming a smile. The other pile makes up the crude form of a devourer.

The cub sits down, brushing off her panther black fur a bit more, her tail folding around her body. A small toothy grin spreads across her face. Alone, and it looks like she wasn’t followed. 

“Now then…” she says as she gestures to the vaguely humanoid junk pile to her left, _“_ You wanted to tell me something, Smoldur? _”_. The cub waits a moment, before continuing in a deep throaty voice.

_“Oh I just wanted to say how amazing your mesmer magic is Crevixen!”_ She nudges one of the pile’s rods, making it point towards her. _“Why it’s so great, that I’m promoting you to legionaire of your warband!”_ The cub emits an exaggerated gasp.

_“_ Oh, I couldn’t! _”_ she responds, sweeping a paw over her onyx colored horns on her head. _“_ The others in the my warband wouldn’t like it, they hate my magic! _”_ She pushes the scrap pile’s rod back into its place. Returning to her Smoldur impression, Crevixen bellows.

_“Pah! They’re just jealous! And if anyone objects, I’ll have ‘em work the scrapyard for the rest of their lives!”_

She giggles to herself for a moment. Oh man, working as scrapper forever, no charr would want that! She gets back up, intent on using her newfound pile to build some more stuff. Turning around, her pink colored eyes meets the gaze of three other cubs, standing at the entrance she squeezed herself through. The male cub on the left has dark brown fur, no hair, and spiky horns pointed forward, his eyes a pale green. The other male in the middle sports light grey fur, with black hair on the top, goatlike horns and white irises. The last cub, the only female of the group, looks like a leopard. She also sports grey horns, striking backwards alongside her neck.

The grey cub bursts out in laughter, with his two companions following after. After a moment, he collects himself.

_“Seriously? This what you’ve been using the scrap for?”_ He walks towards the discarded scrap pile and pokes it with a foot, his fur getting tinted brown as small cloud of dust lands on top of it. The two cubs, still standing back, let out a chuckle at his remark. 

_“Yeah, seriously?”_ The male in the back echos the leader cub’s words. _“Soon as our Primus lets us leave, you go play pretend with a rustbunk?”_ Crevixen sneered, her tail swishing rapidly. 

_“Well I didn’t invite you to my hideout Gallus, so go away.”_ The leading cub chuckled at her remark.

_“It’s not a very good hideout when you leave trail all the way here.”_ The grey cub, Retanus, puffs out his chest, a look of pride on his face.

The leopard cub rolled her blue eyes, stalking up from behind the grey cub and digging a claw into his breast. Speaking with a tone of schadenfreude she says

_“Don’t act so smug Retanus, I’m the one who’s been shadowing her. Without me you would’ve been snatched up by the old scrapper hag.”_ Retanus lets out a sound of indignation.

_“Whatever, Salthea.”_ He pushes her paw away from him. _“Sneaking is for cowards like the Ash Legion.”_ The two cubs snarl at each other, but the loud clunk of metal striking metal snaps their attention back to Crevixen. She had turned into a rapid fire catapult, recklessly flinging lumps of scrap at the three intruders.

“GET OUT!” She screams, her remark joined by several loud bangs and clanks as the scrap missed the others, hitting the side of the war wagon and ruin wall. 

She had hoped they’d get scared and turn tail as soon she started throwing the scrap. Missing them on purpose, too afraid of what might happen if she did. Crevixen was not as fearless as the rest of the cubs in her fahrar.

However, her plan seems to have had the opposite effect. Retanus was charging her like a bull, toppling her with his bigger frame. Crevixen, using all the power in her legs, kicks Retanus off her. As Retanus gets thrown to the side, she sees Gallus running at them, fire in his eyes. She rushes on all fours towards the Smoldur imitation. Looking for a weapon, Crevixen pulls out a short stick of rebar, Scrap Smoldur crumbling in the process. She hears a roar behind her, turning back to see Retanus and Gallus charging her together. 

Her heart races and her body quakes as tears start to form in her eyes. Like a cornered animal, she lets out a high-pitched roar, swinging the rebar wildy towards the incoming cubs. Her vision turns blurry as tears fill her eyes. She swings and swings, aiming for the grey and brown colored smudges in front of her. Then, mid-swing, Crevixen hits something.

_“Ow!”_ It was Retanus. Somehow, she must’ve hit him. Before she gets a chance to do anything, she feels her make-shift weapon get yanked out of her claws. A sudden push forces her to the ground. Sniffling, Crevixen takes a moment to clear the tears out of her eyes. With her vision clear, she sees what’s happened.

Retanus’s right horn has cracked off. Crevixen’s muzzle drops. 

_“I… I-I'm sorry…”_ she squeaks. Retanus’s eyes bore straight into her as he stood straight, gripping rebar in his paw. Salthea hadn’t moved out of her spot, confident that she would not have been hit. She eyes the horn fragment lying on the ground. 

_“Idiot…”_ she mutters. Retanus rounds on her and glares silently. . Salthea’s eyes go wide for a moment. Then she backs off from the group, slowly, before finally turning around and pushing herself out of the entrance, her tail leaving last. As soon as she’s gone, Retanus’s turns back.

Crevixen’s frozen in place, her whole body shaking as if there was an earthquake. _“P-Please… ”,_ her pleas are cut short as Retanus wacks across her leg with the bar. Retanus hefts the rebar with both his paws, bringing it down onto Crevixen’s left shoulder. She opens her mouth, yowling as Retanus hits her again, and again. Every hit leaves a burning sensation. Gallus watches, mouth agape, as Retanus continues to hit her while she curls up, her right arm raised in an attempt to ward off the swings.

After what feels like an eternity, the rebar hits the dirt. Crevixen stays still, her eyes closed, sobbing loudly. A moment passes and she hears a loud clattering. She waits. The deafening silence fills her ears, but she stays still. She finally musters the courage to open her eyes, as she feels something run down her face. She looks around her hideout. Scrap litters the ground, her newfound heap scattered towards the ruin wall. Retanus’s horn fragment sticking out like a bone among it. 

Looking down at herself, she sees all the places where the rebar struck her, the fur pressed flat. Crimson spots stain her charcoal coat. She feels the pain pulsing everywhere. She winces as she moves her left arm slightly. 

As Crevixen attempts to stand, her legs give out and she falls back down, letting out a whimper. _“Help… ”_ Her voice a faint whisper among as she heaves for breath between her sobs. The world around her gains a red tint as a warm, thick liquid flows down her face.

Using her healthy arm, she reaches out and takes the horn piece. She stifles her sobs, closing her eyes again. The sun’s rays start to fade as Crevixen sits still. Slowly, the horn fragment starts glows a faint purple, small butterfly specters fluttering around her paw.


	2. Butterfly Defect

It’s night at the Exterminatus HQ. Legionnaire Retanus Spiritbreaker folds his papers out on the old table in front of him. He clears his throat.

_ “Listen up cubs! This mission _ is important.” The 3 charr in front of him going quiet. Retanus was a fast learner, showing promise as a leader for his warband. Being part of Iron Legion, their aptly named “Spirit” warband was recently tasked with tightening the Legion’s grip on Ascalon by finding a way to permanently keep the ghosts contained.  _ “The ghosts sightings in the nearby ruins have been picking up, and we’ve been assigned to field test some new portable containment units.”  _

He points an armored claw at his map, detailing the Abbey Ruins.  _ “Our objective is to enter the ruins, set up the gear and show those mice who own these lands!”  _ He hammers his paw into the table as he finishes. His onlooking warband cheers in unison. Then one of them, Gallus Spritspotter, decides to speak up.

_ “But boss, where do we set them up?”.  _ Retanus sighs,

_ “I was getting to that, idiot. One team enters the catacombs while the other sets up in the abbey” _ . He points to the two remaining charr.  _ “Gnax, you and Nyria will take the abbey.”  _ The pair of tiger striped charr nods before turning to each other.

_ “I maim them!”  _ roars Gnax Spirithammer. _ “And I slay them!”  _ continues Nyria Razorspirit.

_ “Good, if there’s no questions, then grab the units and lets kick our butts into gear.”  _ Everyone goes quiet before Nysria decides to break silence.

_ “Will she be coming along?”  _ Retanus looks behind him. In the corner of the room, next to a pair of stacked crates, was the last team member.

_ “Yes, but Crevixen’s joining our team, don’t worry.”  _ Nysria nods in response.

_ “Good, I don’t need her getting in my way.”  _

While his warband disperses, Retanus moves toward the lonesome charr. He manages to take one step in her direction before her head glances off to the side. Retanus struggles to gauge whether she is eyeing him sideways, or looking elsewhere. With indigo colored leather straps wrapped across her face, masking her eyes, there was no surefire way to know. Retanus couldn’t remember seeing her without it, but then again, he never bothered looking at her. The straps wrap around the silent charr’s neck, their studded ends attached to large blue-steel rings. She turns towards Retanus’s direction.. He keeps his gaze locked on her, spotting oilstains on her raggy, lilac dyed clothes. Getting impatient, he begins to speak.

_ “So...”  _ She holds up a singular claw, and turns her head back towards the dimly lit table in front of her. As she does, Retanus notices something unsettling; Her grooved, inky horns rounded like the pommel of a sword, with two small prongs jutting out. But the oddly sinister shape of Crevixen’s horns weren’t causing him to stare, but rather the ruby skale eyes inlaid into them, their slitted pupils gazing back at him coldly.

_ “I think they suit me.”  _ Crevixen declares in a cheerful tone. Retanus crosses his arms, steadfast.

_ “Is that so?”  _ He knows it won’t help to ask how she knew, damn mesmer magic. Crevixen picks up a wrench, turning a bolt on top of the containment unit on the table. It springs to life with a blue, ghostly energy emanating from the glass panels in it. She packs her tools and the unit into an old backpack and turns to face Retanus. The cheerful smile disappears as she declares in a deadpan tone  _ “It’s ready, let’s go”. _

Retanus peers over the hill, gazing into the dark night, the ruins dimly lit by a full moon. He raises a paw into the cool, still air. Gallus Spiritspotter appears out of the corner of his eye and holds his shield sidewards, resting his pistol arm on top of it. This lasts for what feels like an eternity to the both of them. Finally, Gallus lowers his shield. 

_ “Clear, again. This doesn’t make sense.”  _ He rubs his brown mane as he looks back towards Crevixen walking up to them. Gallus stares at the nearby entrance to the abbey’s catacombs.  _ “You said the ruins were supposed to be full of ghosts, Retanus. But I can’t see any.”  _ Retanus sneers,

_ “You’re correct, genius”  _ He kicks a small cobblestone away.  _ “I don’t like it, but the legion is counting on us to do this.”  _ Retanus growls. He knew that backing out now meant the loss of his promised promotion. One more assignment, and he’d finally be a centurion. 

Crevixen taps Retanus’ spiked shoulder pad and points down the hill towards a passageway. As they look, they see Nysria waving to them. Then she disappears, Gnax following as best he can with the pack on his back.

Retanus turns back to his “bandmate”, her toothy grin gleaming.  _ “Seems like they’ve found an entrance to the catacombs.”  _ Her smile disappears as she continues.  _ “No ghosts here mean they’ll all be down there.”  _

Gallus scoffs, _ “You don’t know that, you’re just guessing”  _

Crevixen smiles as she faces Gallus, arm still pointing to the passage.  _ “Oh? Then you can show me the ghosts!”  _ she chirps with a light tone.

Retanus shouts in aggravation,  _ “Enough! Both of you shut up, or I’ll kill you myself.”  _ He glares at Crevixen.  _ “You better not cause any friendly fire with your damn magic.”  _ Crevixen’s smile grows wider as her arms drops.

_ “Of course, no fire on friendlies.”  _ She turns away and begins walking down towards the entrance, cobalt colored mist now seeping from it.

Retanus senses the question coming before he hears Gallus open his mouth. He glares back, not hearing a single word. Gallus stiffens and lowers his head.

  
  


Retanus grips Nysria’s leather tunic,  _ “Tell me, which team had the catacombs?”  _

She snarls and bears her fangs as she wrestles free, “Oh quit your whining, you saw it yourself!” She gestures towards the direction of their entrance. “No mice topside! No stupid ghosts to stab!” 

The rest of their warband stands around them in silence. The tunnel was splitting into two paths, both in hues of blue. Gnax lets out a huff as he adjusts his backpack.  _ “Come on Ret-, Legionnaire Sir, we need actual ghosts to test out the stuff, right?” _

Retanus takes a look at Gnax then he stifles a sigh.  _ “What’s their range?” _

_ “Enough to get anything down here,”  _ Crevixen replies cheerily.

Retanus huffs _ “Right, one in each tunnel, then take it slow and steady.” _

Gnax and Nysria quietly comply as they set their unit down at the right tunnel. Crevixens unpacks the sphere-formed unit from her backpack and hands it to Gallus.

Gallus puts down the unit next to Retanus and grips the cog-shaped knob on the side of it. A clicking sound is heard from each tunnel as the units turn on. Retanus clears his throat to speak, but then, he feels a wall of energy hit him. As he looks down at the containment unit, spectral light fills up both tunnel entrances. Retanus’ brow furrows. Both units begin to shake as the tunnels are filled with a cacophony of metallic clanks. Retanus feels his backfur stand up as he feels another pulse from the unit.

_ “What in the blazes?”  _ he mutters, before the tunnel itself shakes, debris falling from the ceiling.  _ “GET DOWN, GET-”  _ Retanus’ vision goes dark as he dives away from the unit, feeling his body hitting the gruff earth.

…

The air is dusty and all is quiet, except for the small rocks that skitter down the tunnel walls. Retanus opens his eyes and though it is dark, his senses come under assault; ringing in his ears, a pain sparking in his left leg, gravel on his tongue, and dust scratching in his lungs. What the in Smoldur’s name just happened?

He spots Gallus’ torso sticking out from the boulders, blood oozing around a shard of rock protruding from his temple. In the distance, Nysria’s broken arm stretches toward the tunnel entrance from beneath a toppled pillar.

_ “Finally...”  _ Crevixen blocks Retanus’ vision as she slinks out of the dark from behind him.  _ “17 minutes and 32 seconds!”  _ Crevixen exclaims in a cheerful tone. She turns Gallus’ jaw with her foot, rolling his glassy eyes up to face her, and sneers,  _ “I waited 17 minutes and 32 seconds for you to wake up.” _

Her free arm digs into her backpack, and a smile begins to form on her wrapped face.  _ “I’ve waited so long for this moment!” _

As Crevixen chirps the final word, Retanus sees her brandishing a crooked piece of rebar, small spots of what look like rust spattered on it.

Retanus chuckles, clenching a shaking claw into a fist.  _ “Is that so?”  _ He plants the other claw on the ground to raise himself up as he shoots a smirk towards Crevixen.  _ “Think you can take me by yourself?” _

  
Crevixen smirks back,  _ “Yes... Just me, myself and I.”  _ Retanus feels several sets of claws grasping his shoulders and hauling him to his feet, and his eyes set upon a trio of identical charr. Their skale-eye horns glinting like bloodstone, they all smile as they lift their rebars in unison.


	3. A Garden’s Regrowth

Crevixen sits down on a vine-wrapped chair and rests her elbows on the giant leafy table. As she folds her claws together, she looks around the dimly lit chamber. Vines and wicked flowers adorn every crevice. A mixture of dark greens, crimson red and lilac purple, a welcome sight compared to the Black Citadel’s iron walls. 

As the ebony-colored charr turns her attention to the blue skinned sylvari sitting across, she feels the gaze of the other sylvari in the room.

The blue skinned sylvari smiles, her plant-made dress a mixture of cyan and purple, complimenting her orchid tinted eyes. She lays a hand on the table as the other plays with her vine-like “hair”.

_ “So, my catty outsider, what exactly are you offering me?” _

Crevixen’s heart races as she rests her head atop her folded claws.  _ “My all, my Duchess,”  _ she coos, fear mixing with excitement. Whispers and stifled laughter fill the room.

Duchess Chrysanthea slams her palms into the table and the room quiets down.

_ “Do not be coy with me, you filth. My court is in disarray and you’re wasting precious time.” _

A pink-hued sylvari wearing dark plate armor steps out of the shadows. She shoots Crevixen a polite smile before she speaks.

_ “My Duchess, forgive her ignorance, what she’s saying is that she’s found a way to spread the Nightmare.” _

The armored sylvari leans in, continuing in a whisper.

_ “One that can make the Nightmare true for all, even non-sylvari.” _

The whispers start again. Crevixen feels a desire to laugh, but contains it. She wouldn’t want to upset the Duchess. Vevila might support her, but everyone else wants to see her dead.

The Duchess’ gaze switches between them, her pondering face finally settles onto Crevixen again. Then, she nods, and gestures for the charr to speak. 

Crevixen feels delight bubble in her stomach, finally! In the blink of an eye, she procures a vial from a tattered backpack. As she delicately places it down, she begins to explain.

_ “In order to grow, the Nightmare requires living sylvari to experience pain.”  _ Crevixen sighs as her both her arms and head rest on the table.  _ “But, in order to inflict pain, you must hurt them, and most people tend to die of their injuries…” _

Crevixen’s pink-skinned associate gestures to another sylvari in the back, who exits the room for a moment, before returning with a bruised sylvari, naked except for a set of chains, their vines wrapping his arms behind his back.

As the frail captor is led to the center of the room, Crevixen straightens up and hands off the vial to Vevila. She then continues her speech.

_ “So, I did some research. A lot, in fact!” _

As if on queue, Vevila draws a thorny whip from her belt and hits the captive’s bare chest with it. His anguished screams fill the room as yellow blood trickles from his wounds and trickles down his chest. All others eagerly watch as one wound turns to two, then three.

The moment passes, the prisoner’s screams turn to whimpers and Crevixen digs her claws into the table. Her smile grows wider as she speaks.

_ “And over time, I found a solution. An elixir of life! Imbued with Tyria’s magic.” _ Next, Crevixen turns around and gestures to Vevila.

Vevila gently approaches the shaking captor, and swings the whip again. It wraps twice around the bleeding man’s neck, it’s pointed exterior digging into his skin. She grips the rest of the whip’s length as she places a foot on his chest.

Vevila pressed her foot down whilst pulling the whip towards her. Golden spots stains her onyx tinted armor as the whip unspools, his blood spraying her.

The air is still inside the chamber as a fountain of yellow flows from the naked sylvari’s neck. Vevila does her best to hold him upright with one hand, until he finally slumps. A moment passes, and everyone is quiet. 

With her remaining free hand, Vevila grabs the vial. With some effort, she uncorks the vial, and pours it’s contents down the dead man’s throat.

The previously slumped corpse begins to shake. It falls to the ground as Vevila lets go, legs jittering against the leafy floor. The body spasms as its sinew and flesh slowly sew the gaping gashes closed. The head jolts as the neck wound pieces itself together. All around are mutters of excitement and curiosity.

The lifelike cadaver stiffens. The veins give off a violet glow as they double in size. Next, the sound of gasping is heard. The now-alive corpse heaves for air, sitting upright. He continues to gasp, as if water filled his lungs. No longer a corpse, he speaks.

_ “W-what is this? I-is this death?” _

Duchess Chrysanthea lets a smile pass her lips. The small crowd applauds. Vevila bows, like a ballerina on a stage. Crevixen turns back to Chrystanthea as the captive is dragged out of sight. The smiling charr breaks the silence between them.

_ “Impressive, right? Good as new, ready for whatever you can think of!” _

The Duchess nods, however a pondering look sits on her face. Her eyes scan the room before she stands. She claps her hand together twice and begins her announcement.

_ “Everyone, clear the room. I require some privacy with this one.” _

Vevila turns to leave, but her leave is cut short by Duchess Chrysanthea’s voice.  _ “You stay Vevila.” _

Vevila bows, just like before, and moves to the two at the table. The Duchess slinks up next to Crevixen. With the charr sitting down, their heights equaled out. The Duchess hums. 

_ “Not the meanest of your kind, but, I still sense something about you. Something I should only sense in other sylvari.” _

Crevixen nods, Vevila putting a hand on her shoulder as she explains.

_ “Normally yes, my Duchess. But the aforementioned research is bearing fruit. Crevixen, if you would.” _

The seemingly soundless charr gently pushes her chair aside before she begins to unwrap her blindfolded face. As Crevixen continues to undo the bindings, she sits down with crossed legs, her back turned to the both of them. 

The final binds loosen and the Duchess finds herself looking at a small flower protruding from the back of the charr’s oak trunk of a neck. It is dark green in colour, its waxy leaves bulging from a hidden center like a lotus. In the dimly lit chamber, a crimson glow peeks through the leaves. Vevila produces a specimen much like the one on the charr’s back.

Turning it over, it seems somewhat dull and lifeless, and is unpleasantly fleshy to the touch. The common patterns one would expect to find on a leaf were absent, instead replaced with a tiny network of pale vessels. The Duchess’ finger taps something on the under-side of the leaf; a thick, stem-like needle protrusion.

_ “This little sweet attaches to a host, connecting them to the Dream, and in turn, the Nightmare as well.”  _ Vevila puffs her chest, holding her head high as she finishes explaining. Crevixen lets out a confirming hum. It was faint, but the charr could sense the cruelty emanating from the two, it was almost intoxicating. Sensing a clap on her back, she begins to rewrap her head, using a set of snap-buttons to keep the straps in place.

In the meantime, the Duchess expresses a thought.  _ “Really now, it sounds almost too good to be true.”  _ She takes the flower specimen in her servant’s hand. Vevila quietly shakes her head.

_ “It’s not, my lady,” _ she pleads.  _ “Given a place to grow, and some time, we’ll have a whole garden ready to share with the rest of Tyria.” _

Duchess Chrysanthea laughs.  _ “You’re asking if you can work on them here, in the Arbor.”  _ Vevila nods. Crevixen turns around, her eyes hidden again.

_ “We require a safe place to perfect our craft, my Duchess.”  _ Creixen adds, bowing her head.

The Duchess hands back the flower to Vevila with a smirk.  _ “Very well, you’re both eager to begin. Perhaps it’s time for the Court to change.”  _ Duchess Chrysanthea takes one of Crevixen’s claws, lifting the arm and wrapping her soft hands around it. 

_ “Welcome to the Nightmare Court, Crevixen...?” _

Crevixen’s heart flutters, her tail swishes in gratifaction.  _ “Spiritfire.”  _ The Duchess nods, as she begins to lead the two of them towards the chamber backdoor.

_ “Well then my dear pet, let’s get you some fitting clothes.” _


End file.
